I’ve never understood why people willingly subject themselves to winter sports. Most of all skiing. The following story (based on true events) has played a formative role in shaping my opinion on the pastime.
Day 1: reality catches up with me
Day 2: the first hurdle
Several long, fruitless practice sessions later, it was time for our first descent down a really, really small section of hill. I completely blocked out the fact that the incline included a grand total of one bend and was two metres off the flat ground. In my mind, I was on the steepest slope in the world, right on the brink of falling. To cut a long story short, I slithered my way down the two-metre incline, clinging desperately to the ground and crying.
Day 3: lost in a flurry of snow
Day 4: the chairlift disaster
If you can enlighten me, please let me know in the comments.
This article was first published on 09.01.2018 Header image: Volker Meyer via Pexels
As a massive Disney fan, I see the world through rose-tinted glasses. I worship series from the 90s and consider mermaids a religion. When I’m not dancing in glitter rain, I’m either hanging out at pyjama parties or sitting at my make-up table. P.S. I love you, bacon, garlic and onions.
Opinion
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It all started in the fourth grade, when I talked my mum into letting me go to my first (and last!) optional ski camp. The skiing itself didn’t even cross my mind. I was more focused on the fun I’d be having with my friends at the kids’ disco in the evening. Not to mention the fact I knew as much about winter sports as I did about piloting a flight to the moon. But I’d get the hang of it. At least, that’s what I thought. As it turned out later, I was 0% suited to the challenges awaiting me in the harsh cold. The word «talentless» doesn’t even begin to describe me on skis. Sure, I knew I’d end up in the loser group (aka the beginners’ group). As for the fact that, even compared to them, I’d turn out to be the worst by a long shot – well, nobody saw that one coming. But let’s start at the beginning.
On the bus ride to Flumserberg, everything was still hunky-dory. My friends and I sat at the back, eating sweets and bobbing our heads along to the hottest tunes the 2000s had to offer. This is when The Black Eyed Peas were all the rage. Once we’d arrived, it was time to settle into our rooms and split up into our groups. I was clearly a beginner; the mere task of holding onto my gloves already proving to be too much. In a similar vein, putting on my ski boots sent me into a full-blown panic, marking me out for the group leaders as Problem Child #1. We started off with some practice exercises on flat ground. This was when it started to dawn on me that I was in a sticky situation. I’d yet to find out just how sticky that situation would get.
On day three, we were apparently ready to cover a distance of 10 metres. I was always the one bringing up the rear, and as bad luck would have it, a thick flurry of snow caused me to lose sight of the group. Mind you, it could’ve just been a bit of snow stuck to my goggles. Who’s to say for sure? Whatever it was, I panicked, fell over what felt like seven times and eventually arrived proudly at the bottom, where my entire group was already waiting for me. Exasperated, the group leader greeted me with an «Oh, here she is – our pro racer!»
On day four, things peaked. Literally. With no instruction whatsoever, we were sent uphill on a chairlift. In a nutshell, this involved four of us girls standing around dumbly, then getting pushed hurriedly into the chairlift by the lift supervisor, safety bar up. On top of that, we’d managed to sit on each other’s hands (which were actually supposed to be holding our poles). The few of us whose arms weren’t trapped under our legs were unable to pull the bar down, meaning the lift had to be stopped midway. The result? One crying girl, one cursing girl, one girl enjoying the view and me shouting, «We’re all gonna die!» with genuine conviction. After somehow making it uphill, two of us fell flat on our faces, three gloves were missing and the ski poles we’d been sitting on were completely bent. That night, I cried myself to sleep.
This ski camp disaster was followed by several more pitiful experiences on the slopes, which I’ll spare you here. I never did get to see the supposedly fun side of skiing. I imagine the charm isn’t in the attempt to hold on to two ski poles, two gloves, two skis, ski goggles, a hat, a scarf, a ski pass and god knows what else the ski market has to offer, all while lumbering around in stiff ski boots. To this day, I’m still plagued by the question: why the hell would anyone voluntarily do something like that – and pay money for the privilege?
